Ivy looked around the room with a loud yawn.
As Ivy lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, she couldn't help but feel a great sense of the luxury she had only dreamt about. The softness of the sheets and the comfort of the pillows enveloped her, making her feel like she was floating on a cloud.
She had spent countless nights sleeping on the streets, sleeping in alleys and hard benches but last night was different.
The huge bed seemed to stretch without ending, and she felt so tiny in comparison.
Just then a sudden knock jolted her awake. She quickly pulled out her knife from under the pillow.
"No one is coming after you," Don Emilio chuckled as he walked in.
"Better safe than sorry," Ivy chuckled. She watched with high alert as the old man walked to the bed and took a seat.
"What's the catch?" Ivy asked, looking at the old man who had amusement in his eyes.
"Catch?" He asked, feigning confusion.
"Yes," she nodded, moving to sit beside him but keeping a safe distant. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. She felt clean— for the first time.
"Sleep well?" He asked.
She nodded, slowly.
"Good," he said. "Because you have a debt to pay. And I don't like lazy people."
Ivy stared at him. Then at the floor. Then back at him.
For some reason, she smiled.
"Then I guess I better earn it."
"Good. Meet me downstairs."
And with that he just walked out.
Ivy sighed, getting down from the bed, she walked to the bathroom and took a bath, brushed her teeth before slipping in her damp clothes she had washed the previous night.
Whatever the old man had in store for her, she was going to get it done and leave the place.
Ivy walked downstairs to Don Emilio sitting with two men and a woman. The old man sat like a king, with two men in tailored suits and a woman with heels sharp enough to slice skin. They all looked at her as she descended the stairs. Not with pity. Not with suspicion.
And that scared her more than the streets ever had.
"Come here Isabela."
Ivy froze, looking around, alarmed by what he had just called her.
The old man smiled and gestured for her to sit but she didn't move.
"How did you know my name? I never told you that. I told you my name was Ivy," she said, voice sharp and small at the same time.
The old man chuckled softly.
"I know what you told and I know it's a lie."
She took a step back, instincts flaring, eyes darting towards the exit.
"No need to panic," he reassured her. "I did some digging and I found out."
The old man looked directly at her, causing her to unconsciously take a step back.
"I make it my business to know who's under my roof. And I have a very long reach."
For some reason she believed him. Every word.
"Now come sit."
Isabela nodded and obeyed.
Immediately she sat, the old man leaned in, his voice lower and more serious.
"No more lies."
And just like that, he turned his attention back to the people in the room.
"This is Lucas," he nodded to the man on his left. He had broad shoulders and icy eyes." Your tutor."
Mia looked at the old man with a slight frown.
"He's going to be your tutor. History, language, etiquette. Everything you never had the chance to learn."
Isabela blinked.
"And this is Mira," he nodded to the woman who offered thin smile.
"She'll be taking you shopping. Can't have you walking around her like you picked a fight with a trash bin."
Isabela flushed, lowering her eyes instinctively.
"Hey," the old man's voice cut through the air. "Look up."
She did.
"You tired to rob me. That was stupid. But gutsy. I respect that, so I'm investing in you."
"Why?" She asked before she could stop herself.
****************
The old man smiled and leaned back in his seat. "Because I see something in you. And no one survives on the streets without being a fighter. I don't waste talent."
Ivy sat there, stunned.
She wasn't a guest. She wasn't a prisoner. She was…..a project?
Her fingers fidgeted on her laps. She didn't know how to say thank you. She wasn't even sure she should.
But then Mira stood up and said, " Come on kid. Let's get you something that actually fits and not faded."
Isabela followed.
Not because she trusted them but deep down a part of her wanted to see who she might become in a world where she had her own tutor....and her own clothes....and silk sheets waiting for her upstairs.
The mall was nothing like Isabela remembered— not that she'd been in one for years. When you live in the street, malls are a place to avoid. Too many eyes. Too many people looking at you like you don't belong.
She used to press her forehead against the glass and imagine she was one of them.
Now she was walking through like she had every right to be there.
Mira moved with purpose, slicing through the crowds in heels that clacked like threats. Isabela trailed behind, overwhelmed by the noise, the lights, the space. She kept tugging at her clothes that were now fully dried, aware of how out of place she looked.
Mira glanced back once. "You walk like someone's about to tackle you."
Isabela shrugged. "I guess it's a habit you get from being on the streets for a long time."
They stopped in front of the kids boutique. Isabela's eyes widened at the prices as they walked through the isles.
"Mira…these stuff…they're…".
"You're not paying," Mira said, flatly.
Isabela clamped her mouth shut.
Inside, a saleswoman approached all smiles, which disappeared as soon as she set eyes on Isabela.
"She's with me," Mira said sharply.
That was all it took. The tone in Mira's voice could have shattered glass.
The saleswoman back off and before Isabela could react, she was handed clothes she never thought she'd touch— let alone try on. Some dresses shimmered, coats lined with silk, boots that made her taller and more powerful as she looked in the mirror.
Mira sat on a velvet chair like a queen, watching Isabela emerge from the dressing room, again and again.
Isabela tried on a black leather jacket and caught her reflection.
For a second, she didn't recognize herself.
Not because she looked rich, not because she looked clean.
Because she looked like someone with power.
"You like that," Mira said knowingly.
Isabela slowly nodded.
" I do."
"Good, then it's yours."
They didn't just stop at one store and by the time they stopped for lunch, Isabela had nearly forgotten what it what it felt like to be invisible.
They sat in the corner of an upscale restaurant, her bags piled up beside her like trophies. She picked ya the food in front of her, too afraid to eat.
"What are you waiting for?"
Isabela shook her head and forced herself to shove some food down her throat.
After eating, they got back into the car and drove straight to the mansion.
The sun was already setting when they arrived. Don Emilio was sitting at the summer hut with a group of men when they arrived.
"Go to your room and don't come out until you're called," Mira instructed and Isabela nodded and rushed inside, ignoring how tensed Mira looked as she walked towards the summer hut.
Isabela couldn't stop herself from trying on the clothes all over, telling herself each time that that was the last time, and she couldn't believe they were hers.
After trying on the clothes numerous times, she finally fell asleep wearing one of the clothes.
After taking care of his business downstairs, Don Emilio walked to Isabela's room to check up on her. The room was still and silent when he walked in. He took a quick glance at the room and found himself smiling when he saw her small frame on the bed.
For a moment, he simply stood there.
Then something inside him— something old, quiet and buried— shifted.
He saw a flicker of someone. His son, Oliver.
He remembered how Oliver had once fallen asleep just like that year ago in his uniform.
He had been ten, his cheeks red from playing in the cold. Don Emilio had walked in to see him fast asleep on the bed, his pencil in his hand, homework half-done.
It was one of the last time he saw his son alive.
After the shooting, Don Emilio had boxed away the memories after years of grieving. Folded them carefully like paper cranes and hidden them deep, so deep he forgot where they were.
But now, looking at Isabela, something gently broke open. Not like glass but like the earth softening for a spring.
He walked to the bed and pulled the edge of the blanket over her legs. She stirred but didn't wake up. Her face was peaceful.
"God has given me another me chance my love. And I promise not to let what happened to Oliver happen to her," he found himself whispering to his wife who had also committed suicide because she couldn't handle the grief.